Chapter II

It was five months on from my brother's ill-conceived tennis lesson and we were sat in the stands of the O2 arena in London. Renee, our mother and Phil, had paid out a small fortune to buy the best seats in the arena so that Seth would have ample opportunity to watch the game. It was dark in the arena with white and blue lighting surrounding the court in the center of the arena. Around us, music pumped to rouse the crowd as people were toing and froing in between the matches.

"Who's playing next?" I murmured as I attempted to remove the splotches and dots of paint from my hands and arms. It was winter break from my university, but it did not stop me working on art and photography for the commencement of next semester. My mother had to prize me away from the easel to come out for the game today. As much as I loved my brother, we had our own interests.

My mother leant across Seth to scowl at me, 'Honestly Bella! Your brother is about to turn professional, the least you can do is show a small interest in the game and its top players. What if your brother plays against them one day?!" With a huff she sat back as my brother chuckled beside me. "It'll be a good match Bells, it's the world number two against the world number three. I promise you will find it exciting."

As he finished a voice over the speakers began to rouse the crowd for the commencement of the next match. With much gusto and a great deal of wind up, the commentator heralded the arrival of the players. The spotlights swooped to the corner of the court stalking each player as they came in lugging their bags to much adulation.

The cacophony of voices quieted as, on the large screens in the corners of the court, profiles of each player appeared. The first was for the world number 2 and my eyes were drawn to the picture that held a familiar shock of bronze hair. I sat forward in my seat to get a better look and indeed, it was the Greek God of Tennis Tips himself. In the close up picture he wore the trademark crooked smile, relaxed, if a little cocky. His eyes were a brilliant and mesmerizing green I noted, and framed with thick black lashes, I could not tell behind his aviators before. He seemed young, my age if not a little older.

My heart beat in my chest as the crowd screamed their approval. My eyes flitted over his profile information before it disappeared from the screens. His name was Edward Cullen and he was two years older than me at 22. He had 40 titles 7 of which were grandslams but he had never won here.

As if reading my mind, my brother leant across, shouting loudly to be heard over the screams and pumping music in the arena. "There are 4 grandslam tournaments in the playing year. The Australian Open, French Open, Wimbledon and the US Open. They are the biggest tournaments you can win, the Olympics aside of course." He gave a smirk and an eyebrow wiggle. My brother had plans, big plans, one of which was to stand on the Olympic tennis podium receiving gold.

"Better get playing then." I quipped. The London Olympics were under a year away. He rolled his eyes and sighed wistfully, realistically we were looking at least to the Rio Olympics in 2016. He needed to get out of juniors and turn pro before he could even entertain that idea. However, his coach, Demetri a former grandslam winner, seemed to think he had the ability at the end of next year. My brother was only 16 after all.

I returned my attention to the screen and saw that Edward's profile had gone, replaced by the current world number three, James Hunter. His achievements were fewer than Edwards, but not by much. Their stature was similar too but James was older at 27.

James, had dirty blonde hair tied back into a pony-tail with a bandana about his head. His eyes were ice blue and his face was determined and angular. I stared at the enlarged picture of him, startled by the depth and intensity of his stare. Seth was right, I was looking forward to this match, a lot.